


B is for Bound

by nastally



Series: The BDSM Alphabet [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Champagne, Consensual, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, M/M, Must Fuck Weekend contribution, Name-Calling, Rape Fantasy, Rape Play, Shameless Smut, Verbal Humiliation, a lot of love throughout, a tiny bit of spanking, mid-70s, non-con play, not entirely safe though, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24197071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastally/pseuds/nastally
Summary: Freddie giggled, flashing teeth. It was a throaty sound that only made Roger’s grin widen. Ever since Amsterdam, there was a new topic of conversation they’d discovered, and it was truly curious, Roger thought, that it had taken them this long to talk about these things openly. But doing something outrageous and shocking, something seemingly forbidden, was one thing. Spelling it out was another."What kind of question is that?" The dark-haired man sitting across from him on the sofa inquired, a brush of knees against each other as he shifted and let his fingers trail through his hair, gaze wandering. "You know exactly, darling. You know when I’m in the mood..."- - -A particular fantasy is explored.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Series: The BDSM Alphabet [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746349
Comments: 32
Kudos: 70
Collections: Queen Must Fuck Weekend





	B is for Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This is my contribution to Must Fuck Weekend 2020, inspired not by any particular prompt but the idea of the weekend itself. Sort of. I might have used to quite loosely, I'm sorry! This is also the second part in what apparently now IS a bdsm alphabet series. lol Starting with _A is for Amsterdam._
> 
> Will I write more for this series? Sure, if the inspiration strikes me. (Feel free to make suggestions for scenarios, maybe I'll get inspired, haha.)
> 
> Enjoy and **DEAR GOD I BEG YOU** : mind the tags.

\- - -

One of Freddie’s eyebrows quirked up for a moment, the champagne glass held close to his lips. He hid his half-abashed, half-mischievous smirk behind it as he lifted it up to take a large gulp. The occasion was nothing other than a night to themselves, but Freddie had insisted on the Moët - left over from New Year's Eve - and had emptied the last few drops from the bottle into Roger’s glass a few minutes ago, murmuring a silky ‘keep up, darling’.

Roger watched him swallow, his gaze briefly travelling down Freddie’s neck and back up to his eyes. It was always hard to tell what a night like this would result in, even though sex was usually a given. But there were nights where they'd rip each other's clothes off before dinner, and then nights like these, spent talking and flirting. When the baseline of excitement they both felt was a tingling hum in the background, the tension rising, until something sparked an explosion. Roger felt like the fuse had been lit, given the turn their conversation had taken a little while ago. A lop-sided grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, he tilted his head, propping it up on his hand, elbow resting on the back of the sofa.

“So…” he ventured, mulling over what Freddie had just told him, “how would I know… _when_ , though? How do I know when you’d be… in the mood for that kind of thing?”

Freddie giggled, flashing teeth. It was a throaty sound that only made Roger’s grin widen. Ever since Amsterdam, there was a new topic of conversation they’d discovered, and it was truly curious, Roger thought, that it had taken them this long to talk about these things openly. But doing something outrageous and shocking, something seemingly forbidden, was one thing. Spelling it out was another.

“What kind of question is that?” The dark-haired man sitting across from him on the sofa inquired, a brush of knees against each other as he shifted and let his fingers trail through his hair, gaze wandering. “You know exactly, darling. You know when I’m in the mood...”

Long fingers brushed over the back of the sofa beside Roger’s elbow, not quite touching it. The erotic tension which had arisen between them since Freddie had turned to him, eyes large and dark, and smiled that secretive smile which usually preceded an intimate confession, was becoming almost tangible. Roger could feel it in the pit of his stomach, like coiling heat, he could feel it on the surface of his skin, small hairs standing on end.

“Yeah, but…” And as always, Freddie insisted on being difficult. Because of course he did. It was, to be fair, part of his charm. There was always that element of danger, of not being quite sure if he was serious, or playing, or _asking_. “That’s a pretty specific kind of mood you’re talking about,” Roger pointed out.

Freddie gave a coquettish little shrug, eyeing the remaining champagne in his glass with a smirk. “You haven’t told me...” he pulled his top lip over his teeth, swirling the sparkly liquid around, and Roger watched him unfold one leg from beneath himself and stretch it out towards the carpet, pointing his toes, “...if it’s something you’d consider… doing." 

‘To me’ were the words he never said, but it felt as though they hung in the air between them nonetheless. His entire body language was dripping with sensuality now, poised for the beginning of something, waiting for one of them to make the first move. 

And as so many times before when Freddie was involved, Roger found that no one could awaken that darker part of him quite like Freddie could. His heart was already beating a little faster, and he could feel the heat in his cheeks, a mixture of slowly simmering arousal and the effect of the alcohol. He glanced at his glass, which was empty, and put it down on the coffee table.

“What,” he said quietly, leaning against the backrest again and watching his friend and lover, even though Freddie wasn’t looking him in the eye, “Just… have my way with you?”

A smile ghosted over Freddie’s parted lips and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet them. “Whether I…”

“Whether you want to or not?” Roger drew a breath and ran a hand over his face, glancing up at the ceiling in contemplation for a moment. “Okay, but I know you _want_ to, cause you’ve just told me, so-”

Freddie waved a hand, eyebrows drawing together for a moment. “I want-” he paused, raked his teeth over his lower lip, “I want to feel like I don’t.” His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, his dark gaze meeting Roger’s. “Do you know…?”

“Helpless,” Roger supplied quietly, eyes half-hooded.

“Yes,” Freddie whispered in a tone so velvety and breathy that it went straight to Roger’s core and simmered there.

It was never anything if not a challenge, with Freddie. _He_ was never anything if not a challenge, a walk on a knife’s edge, an entire palette of shades of grey. There was, however, a part of Roger which was extremely glad that it was him Freddie had chosen to entrust himself to. Because knowing him, he may well have gone out to seek the same thrill from complete strangers, putting all but his own life on the line. Certainly his safety.  
Then again, sometimes Roger wondered if he could trust himself, because Freddie had a way of pushing his buttons. Tearing at his self-control until he couldn’t help but let go, unleashing parts of him he had never known he possessed. It was mind-blowing and nerve-wrecking all at once, half of the time.

“Is that something you'd like to do?” Freddie asked, almost innocently, given the nature of the… well, _scene_ , Roger supposed, they were talking about. 

Roger thought about it. As if he hadn’t spent the last five minutes thinking about it, imagining his fingers digging into Freddie’s skin, threading into his hair, pushing, pulling, holding him down. A hand around his throat, pounding into him with sharp, punishing thrusts.

As if he wasn’t half-hard in his jeans thinking about it.

“So long as you’d stop me,” he replied, his voice raspy.

Freddie gave him _the look_ , the one which seemed to say ‘oh, my sweet lamb, as if it would ever come to that’. Roger shook his head, holding his gaze.

“Promise me.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Freddie rolled his wrist, a small smile on his lips. 

“Amsterdam,” he drawled.

“Amsterdam.” Roger repeated, quite serious, in that moment, even though the champagne had definitely gone to his head a bit.

Reluctant as Freddie had been about the idea, Roger felt infinitely better, confident in the knowledge that they had a safeword. Even though he knew Freddie well enough to have his doubts about whether he would ever use it, at the very least that safety net was in place.

Roger’s eyes wandered to the empty bottle and his empty glass beside it on the coffee table. They could always open another bottle of something or other. Keep talking. Change the subject. Leave it for another day and plan ahead. The thing was that he knew Freddie, knew that once he had latched on to a thought or an idea, he _meant_ it and saw it through to the end. Freddie never spoke of things which were not of immediate interest to him. 

“Hmm… imagine,” Roger found himself saying, pursing his lips for a moment, biting back a grin which was fighting its way onto his face because a part of him was screaming at him about how insane this was. And yet. “Imagine someone broke in tonight.”

Curious, almond-shaped eyes focused on him, teeth poking out from underneath that sensuous top lip.

“Maybe…” Waving a hand, Roger continued, creating the fantasy as it came to him, “someone who’s… I don't know, seen you on stage?” He raised his eyebrows a little, the tip of his tongue darting out between his teeth as he lowered his voice a little more, “Seen what a shameless _tease_ you are.”

Freddie’s breath seemed to catch a little in his throat. Watching Roger with utter fascination and a growing twinkle of excitement in his eyes, he closed his mouth and swallowed, clutching his glass a little tighter. 

“I suppose you’d have to run and hide,” Roger said coolly, staring back at him, his expression now perfectly serious. "Wouldn't you." 

The fact that his heart was beating in his throat, adrenaline, dopamine and endorphins coursing through his bloodstream - a fact his mind automatically provided - lessened the urge to laugh, to find it all too ridiculous and outrageous to take seriously. However, Freddie wasn’t laughing, either.

“Oh no,” he breathed, leaning in a little, “and what if he finds me?”

Instead of a reply, Roger looked him dead in the eye for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Then he gave the tiniest shake of his head, licking his lips, and leaned in as well, almost nose to nose with Freddie. “Oh, I think you know. And I think you better fucking _run_.”

“Fuck,” The word tumbled over Freddie’s lips in a breathless gasp, part giddy excitement and partly a genuine hint of panic. But then he flashed Roger a quick smile and knocked the rest of his drink back in one gulp, leaning forward to leave the glass on the coffee table.

“One,” Roger said, his tone quite calm and casual as he curled his fingers and glanced down to inspect his nails in a display of nonchalance. 

"...Rog." 

“Two.”

“Oh my God,” Freddie muttered breathlessly and jumped up from the sofa, almost tripping over his own feet as he rounded the coffee table.

“Three.” Roger couldn’t help but grin, now. But it wasn’t amusement so much as delight, the thrill of the game taking a hold of him. It was a wicked game. Strange and wrong on so many levels, perhaps. And that… didn’t actually bother him one jot. Which was an interesting realisation. 

He raised his voice, seeing as Freddie had left the living room. “Four.”

The bathroom door creaked. Roger tilted his head this way and that, cracking his neck, and rolled his shoulders back. Even though it was late in the evening, he suddenly felt wide awake and alert as he slowly rose to his feet, head turning towards the doorway which led out into the corridor.

“Five.”

\- - -

Standing in the dark bathroom, his back pressed against the wall, Freddie instinctively clapped a hand over his mouth. His heart was hammering against his ribcage, going a hundred miles an hour. He felt light-headed, partly from the champagne and partly because he was in a state of almost childlike excitation, having so instantly and readily immersed himself in the game that it felt all too _real_. Short of breath and knees weak, he turned his head a little and listened from the shadows behind the door.

Listened intently to the silence, a part of him in utter disbelief, bordering on panic, when he tried to contemplate how this would play out. What he'd asked for. What Roger might do. How far he would go. And yet, a shiver ran through him at the thought, hot excitement coursing through him like an electric current. There were footsteps in the corridor, or rather, it wasn’t so much the footsteps he could hear. Both of them had taken their shoes off hours ago. It was the creaking of floorboards and the quiet rustle of clothes, slowly coming nearer. His heart beat impossibly faster.  
When a floorboard gave a groan just outside the bathroom, Freddie squeezed his eyes shut and very nearly let out a squeak, holding his breath. Panicked, near-hysterically thrilled and turned on all at once.

Outside the door, the soft tread of feet slowly continued past him and further down the corridor, and then, silence. Freddie waited and slowly lowered his hand, drawing quick, shallow breaths.

No sound. But he didn’t dare move.

Had Roger gone to the end of the corridor, all the way to the spare room? Or would Freddie be ambushed the very moment he fled the bathroom? It was impossible to tell, and after a minute or two had gone by, the rush of blood in his ears almost deafening, Freddie decided to try to make a run for it. Very quietly and carefully, he moved out from behind the open bathroom door and glanced into the dark corridor, eyes wide and unblinking. The bedroom door was just across from the bathroom, but he’d be trapped there. Living room, he decided, took a last breath, and dashed out through the door, almost slipping on the floor boards. However, he became aware of the movement behind him almost immediately. Everything happened in a matter of a few split seconds. A hand seized his arm and pulled, unbalancing him, and the next moment they fell into the wall of the narrow corridor. Strong arms wrapped around his middle. Freddie shrieked and tried to free himself quite in earnest, completely on instinct, stopping himself short of actually elbowing Roger in the face. His fingers closed around a handful of Roger’s shirt and there was a ripping sound, although Freddie barely registered it. One of Roger’s hands had closed around his wrist, spinning him around to face him, trapping him against the wall. It had to be said that for his fairly slight build, the drummer had a surprising amount of upper body strength and even though Freddie’s attempt at putting up a fight was more real than show, he found himself wrestled to the floor with a thud and trapped under the other man’s weight. On his back, looking up into blue eyes which glinted darkly in the dim light, both of them panting, Freddie tried to pull his hands free to no avail, his wrists now in Roger's hands, trapped against the floorboards on either side of his head. 

"Gotcha." Roger only tightened his grip and Freddie winced, bucking up against him. 

“Ahh-”

They looked at each other, for a split second acknowledging the madness of it all. Freddie could feel Roger hesitate, loosening his hold on him, and oh, that was a mistake. Without stopping to think, Freddie yanked one hand free and shoved the other man in the chest hard, successfully pushing him off just enough to turn himself around onto his stomach. Evidently not having expected it, Roger rolled off him and lost his hold on him long enough for Freddie to try and scramble away on his hands and knees. But the next moment he was foiled as Roger seized his ankle and pulled him back. Freddie let out a surprised yelp, hands sliding over the smooth hardwood floor. 

“Oh no, you don’t,” Roger growled and got to his feet, and kept pulling, veritably dragging him backwards towards the bedroom.

 _Fucking hell._

A maniacal, breathless laugh escaped Freddie, breaking the Illusion of danger for a moment, and Roger snorted and gave one final, firm tug, pulling him inside the bedroom. The lights were off, the room in darkness except for the pale light coming in through the window. The moment Roger let him go, Freddie scrambled to his hands and knees, looking up at the door. But Roger had already stepped past him and slammed it shut. One hand still resting against it, he turned back and kept his eyes on Freddie, his gaze heavy and foreboding, while his hand slid down to the key in the lock.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he informed him and turned the key, pulling it out of the lock and tucking it into his pocket. “Not until I’m done with you.”

A wave of dark, hot desire washed over Freddie, his insides weak with it, and he exhaled a shaky breath that came out a whimper. 

"...What," his voice was uneven, barely obeying him, ”What are you going to do to me?” 

_You fiend,_ Freddie had a mind of adding, but didn’t, because it would have sent them both into a fit of laughter, breaking the tension, and what was happening here was far too good to stop. No, he knew at once and without a doubt that he wanted nothing more than to see it through to the end, no holds barred. It had taken him _weeks_ and the better half of a bottle of champagne to bring it up, and he wasn’t about to ruin it now.  
Roger slowly advanced on him and Freddie started crawling backwards until he came up against the bed. Cornered. God, it was such a rush. He was buzzing with a dizzying mixture of adrenaline and arousal, and he really wasn't sure his knees were going to support him at all if he tried to stand up. 

Stopping a few paces away from him, Roger tilted his head to the side, a smirk on his lips and a steely edge to his voice when he spoke.

"I'm gonna give it to you like the little slut you are." 

Freddie felt those words all the way down to his balls.

\- - -

Too far? 

Staring up at Roger with wide eyes, his jaw slack, Freddie visibly shuddered at his words and lifted a hand up to his chest. His fingers raked over the material of his shirt, perhaps quite without realising it, all sensuality and breathless desire.

Well then. Evidently not too far. 

It was frightening how easily it came to him, now. The part Roger was playing, the part he knew Freddie wanted him to play, in this. The role of the predator. But it was the way Freddie abandoned himself to it completely which made it easy, and more so, _exciting_. 

Roger drew out that moment of anticipation, enjoying the sight of him stewing in it, letting him wonder what he might do next as much as forming a vague plan in his own head. When he started towards him, Freddie flinched, instinctively raising an arm up, and Roger grabbed his wrist, yanking him up to his feet. Bringing them up against each other chest to chest. It was too dark to see it, but Roger was positive that Freddie was flushed all over, he could all but feel the heat radiating off him. A part of him wanted to spin him around right there and then, bend him over the bed and-

But no, there was a lot more fun to be had here. 

“You...” Roger raised an eyebrow and twisted Freddie’s arm behind his back, pulling him flush against himself. “You tore my bloody shirt, by the way.”

“Oh,” Freddie breathed, and made a startled sound when Roger turned him around before he could get a response out. His free hand quickly found Freddie’s other wrist, twisting that arm behind his back as well.

“What do you say?” he asked, leaning close to Freddie’s ear and brushing it with his lips. Feeling the other man shiver. “Hm?”

“Uh…” Freddie turned his face towards him a little, his voice deliciously husky. “I’ll pay for it?”

Roger huffed out a breath, biting back a snicker. “Yeah, you will.”

With that, he pushed Freddie down onto the bed and straddled him, holding his hands in place with one hand for a moment. With the other, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his jeans. He looped it around Freddie’s wrists, threading it back through the buckle, and pulled it as tight as he dared, then looped it another two times and secured it. Freddie wasn’t exactly putting up a fight, but he tried to struggle against his restraints for a few moments. There was no give, however, and Roger felt strangely pleased with himself.

“Told you, you’re not going anywhere.” He climbed off Freddie, kneeling beside him, and manoeuvred him into the middle of the bed. The flimsy, white scarf Freddie was wearing had come off almost entirely, its end twisting around Freddie’s upper arm, and Roger untangled it and pulled it aside. However, before he discarded it beside the bed, an idea crossed his mind, and he hesitated, leaving it on the edge of the bed instead.  
Taking a hold of Freddie's upper arm, Roger pulled him upright into a kneeling position. Large curls of dark hair hung into his face, the rest of it cascading down his shoulders. Roger seized a thick handful of his hair and forced his head backwards, twisting the silky strands around his hand for a better grip. Freddie threw him a look through his lashes and then lowered his gaze, his breathing shallow through parted lips. Christ, but he was gorgeous. 

“Look at you.” Roger murmured and dove in, running his tongue up the side of his neck before he sucked a patch of skin into his mouth. Freddie moaned, the sound shooting straight to Roger’s groin, and he tugged at his hair harder, making him arch his back. Sinking his teeth into his pulse point.

“Oh God-”

Roger's free hand roamed over Freddie’s stomach and chest possessively, hot skin beneath smooth satin. He was wearing a loose white blouse, underneath his crushed velvet cardigan. Easy enough to tear, Roger found himself thinking, but wisely didn’t give in to that particular urge. Instead he slid his hand back down to the hem of Freddie’s blouse and underneath it, rucking it up a bit in the process. His nails grazed Freddie’s stomach and he ran his fingers through his chest hair before honing in on a nipple. Freddie hissed when he gave it a hard pinch, so Roger immediately did it again, pinching and twisting the sensitive nub between his fingers none too gently while he left marks on his neck. Until Freddie was whining and straining not so much against, but into his touch. Roger dragged his lips up to the other man’s ear.

“Such a slut,” he whispered, and licked into the shell of his ear lewdly before he caught his earlobe between his teeth. All the while moving on to the other nipple to give it the same treatment. Tonight was the first time he’d called Freddie anything as degrading as that in the bedroom, but it felt fitting, given the scene, and Roger knew well that Freddie loved being talked to. Judging by the desperate little noise he made in response, it was working for him. Roger’s teeth and tongue found Freddie’s neck again, deepening the bruises there, while his hand slid down between Freddie’s legs and tightened around the hard bulge in his trousers, giving it a squeeze through the material.

Yup, this was very definitely working for him. Also, bloody hell, Freddie definitely wasn't wearing any underwear. 

Roger pulled back a little and smirked, rubbing the heel of his hand against Freddie’s cock roughly. “Just begging for someone to give it to you, huh?”

Freddie shook his head with a whimper, a half-hearted protestation. He had his eyes closed now, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his face turned away as much as Roger’s grip on his hair allowed. And yet, his thighs had spread wide open, hips eagerly bucking into Roger’s hand. After a few moments, Roger deprived him of that contact and pulled his hand away, throwing him forward onto the bed. Freddie landed on his stomach with a soft, punched-out sound, face pressed into the sheets. Roger grabbed the top of his cardigan, pulled it down just past Freddie’s shoulders, for no other reason than the sudden desire to leave him not only helpless but beautifully dishevelled. Then he let his eyes follow the path one of his hands took. Down to his lover’s shapely backside, giving one of his buttocks a firm squeeze followed by a none too playful slap.

“Oh yes,” Still palming Freddie's arse, Roger went to undo his own jeans with his other hand. “You’re gonna get fucked good tonight.”

He delivered another resounding slap, across the other side, coaxing a low, quivery sound out of Freddie.  
When he glanced up at his face, Roger felt the heat in his core coil impossibly tighter. He was a sight to behold. Hair ruffled, his face a picture of agonised longing, he was watcing Roger free himself from the confines of his jeans and underwear. His eyes were half-closed and glazed over, fixed on the sight of his cock. Roger licked his lips and moaned quietly as he gave himself a few quick strokes, unable to tear his eyes away from Freddie's face. 

“Want it?” he rasped, biting his lip, “You want my cock?”

Freddie’s eyes flicked up to him before he closed them again, turning his face into the sheets. 

"Please…" The word was barely a whisper. It sounded as though Freddie really wasn't sure if he was begging for it or attempting to plead for his freedom. 

“Yeah, you do.” Leaning over to the nightstand, Roger pulled the top drawer open and grabbed the bottle of lubricant - truly the best _souvenir_ they’d brought back from Amsterdam - dropping it onto the bed before he moved to straddle Freddie’s thighs, and reached around and underneath him.

“You fucking do,” Roger bent down close to Freddie’s ear while he hurriedly unfastened the other man's trousers, and thoroughly surprised himself with how readily the words came to him. “And you’re gonna take it... like a good little slut.”

With that, he lifted himself up and unceremoniously pulled Freddie’s trousers down to his thighs with a few vigorous tugs, then climbed off to quickly strip off his jeans completely as they were rather getting in the way. His eyes fell on Freddie’s scarf, half hanging off the edge of the bed, and Roger snapped it up before he climbed on top of him again, looking down at himself for a moment, at the way his cock was now resting in the crease between Freddie’s buttocks. He rolled his hips with a grunt, creating a little bit of friction, and quickly twisted the scarf into a band.

“Can’t have you screaming down the house, though,” he informed the man beneath him and looped the scarf around his head, easily sliding it between Freddie’s parted lips. The dark-haired man made a surprised sound, eyes flying open as he lifted his head up for a moment. Roger was pretty sure that even with the scarf he'd be able to make out a genuine protest, if Freddie decided to voice it. He knotted the scarf at the nape of his neck and scooted backwards a little, hands seeking out Freddie’s firm buttocks, kneading the muscle. It was completely impossible to resist giving that perfect arse another couple of slaps, feeling the other man jolt beneath him.

_Jesus._

Roger hadn’t felt drunk before - well, perhaps a tiny bit tipsy - but he felt drunk now, with lust and something else, something much darker which he couldn’t even begin to categorise right now. Pouring a generous amount of lube into his hand, he warmed it up between his palms and coated himself in it first, moaning at the blissful sensation of his fingers gliding over his dick. Then he poured a little more into his palm for good measure and slipped his hand between Freddie’s cheeks. 

“Fuck, yeah…” Spreading it over Freddie’s entrance, Roger dipped a slippery finger inside, eliciting a gasp. “Gonna fuck your tight hole, baby.”

The words, term of endearment and all, had rolled over his lips all of their own accord, as involuntary as the muffled, desperate moan which answered them. Roger was very nearly past being able to form coherent sentences, so all-consuming was the need to bury himself inside that inviting heat.  
Taking his cock in hand, he positioned himself and brushed the tip over Freddie’s hole, giving him a chance to stop him. He knew that given the right situation and state of mind, Freddie didn’t need a whole lot of foreplay, as it were, and in fact occasionally had a go at him for not getting on with it fast enough. Because sometimes, he craved that edge of pain. And Roger walked a fine line, between wanting to give him what he was asking for and not wanting to _actually_ hurt him beyond his limit. Wherever the fuck that limit lay, Roger genuinely had no idea. He hoped that it existed.  
Freddie was straining a little beneath him, eyes screwed shut, but he made no sound of protest. And Roger steadied himself and pushed inside. 

“Ahh _fuck_ ,” he couldn’t help but moan, eyes falling shut for a moment. Freddie seemed to hold his breath and then started panting noisily into the scarf gagging him, short, broken sounds that could have been pain as easily as pleasure. Probably a mixture of both.  
With a few slow thrusts, Roger gradually pushed in deeper until his hips were flush against Freddie’s arse. Propped up on his hands, he held out a few moments and then pulled almost all the way out, only to thrust all the way back inside in one smooth move. Freddie moaned something that sounded like ' _oh fuck, oh fuck_ ' as Roger built up a fast, sharp rhythm, snapping his hips against him with every thrust.

\- - -

He hadn't expected to be gagged, but somehow it was that which completed the illusion of true helplessness. He sank his teeth into the material, face rubbing up against the sheets with every thrust. It ached. His shoulders, his arms, his wrists. His body protesting everything it had been subjected to. And it burned, it hurt so good when Roger started fucking him mercilessly, pleasure drowning out the pain, or rather, pain enhancing pleasure. The intensity was on another level. All of it physically and psychologically on the verge of _too much_. The feeling of being taken, used, overpowered, _overwhelmed_. Freddie gave a series of shuddering moans, the sound muffled by the scarf in his mouth which was becoming sodden.

Roger increased the speed, veritably pounding him into the mattress until all Freddie was capable of was a weak, continuous whine over the top of the other man's grunts and moans. The sensation of total surrender swallowed him whole. He couldn't come like this, or at least he never had, but it felt so good, keeping him right in that sweet spot on the edge of completion. All but sobbing. 

After a while, Roger slowed down to a near halt, panting above him, and shifted over to one side a little. Dropping down onto his forearm, his other hand slipped underneath Freddie's hips and found his cock. 

"You're gonna come for me," he told him in a low, breathless voice. Freddie very nearly did, at that, and involuntarily clenched around Roger's cock with a broken moan. 

There wasn't much room for movement with Roger's hand trapped beneath him, so all he could do was work his hand over the head of Freddie's cock, rolling his hips against him as he picked a slow rhythm back up. However, that was more than enough. Freddie heard himself whimper muffled noises of approval, sounds which he wasn’t sure would have been words even if he hadn’t been gagged. Oh fuck, he was so close. 

"Yeah, ah- come on," Roger's voice was strained with the effort of keeping up those deep, slow thrusts, a contrast to the fast, rhythmical movements of his fingers on Freddie's cock. "Show me how much you love it, you filthy little slut."

And Freddie fell apart.

\---

Everything was Freddie. His obscene moans, his cock pulsing in Roger’s hand as he came, his muscles gripping Roger so tightly it was near-painful bliss. He drowned in it, in him, eyes screwed shut and hips bucking against him with needy desperation, chasing his own release. It took no more than seconds, but they seemed to drag impossibly while he teetered on the edge and then, that sweet, all-consuming tension broke and shattered him into pieces. He came deep inside the other man, with a stream of moans and curses and words of approval on his lips. 

Unable and unwilling to hold himself up any longer, Roger pulled out as the last shudders of ecstasy coursed through him and fell onto the bed beside Freddie, drenched in sweat and trying to catch his breath.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, wiping his fingers on the sheets, “Holy fucking shit. Oh-” As his cognitive abilities returned to him, Roger turned to look at Freddie and lifted a limp hand, quickly tugging at the knot which was keeping the scarf in place. “Oh shit, there you go, sorry.”

“Ow, ow, take it off-” Were the first words out of Freddie’s mouth as soon as he had freed him from the scarf and he'd turned his head around to face him, grimacing. 

"Oh Christ, sorry. I'm sorry," Roger muttered, sitting up to undo the belt as quickly as he could. Freddie groaned, letting his arms drop at his sides and Roger rolled over to the edge of the bed, switching on the lamp on the bedside table. "You alright?" 

When he turned back, Freddie was on his back right beside him, having taken that opportunity to roll out of the wet patch. Still breathing hard, he lifted his hips up with what looked like an effort and pulled his trousers back up before collapsing onto the bed once more, cradling his wrists against his chest. 

"Freddie." 

"Ahh, fuck-"

Roger's eyes darted to the red marks on his wrists, concern quickly overriding all other emotions. His breath caught in his throat as he wrapped his arms around Freddie hesitantly, gingerly, searching his face. "Are you alright?" 

_Oh no, oh God… Did I…_

To his immense relief, Freddie broke into a slow, tired smile and lifted his eyes up to him with a heavy-lidded gaze.

“Mhh,” he purred, fingers weakly closing around Roger’s arm which was lying on top of him. “Yeah…”

“...Okay.” Roger exhaled and relaxed a little beside him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder through the satiny material of his blouse. 

Eyes falling shut, Freddie took a deep breath and snuggled into him. “Hold me.”

Roger drew one arm around him tighter and kissed his forehead, his temple, his brow, all the while gently massaging his wrists. With a contented hum, Freddie let one hand slide down to his stomach and frowned, the hum turning into a displeased groan. “Nooo, my blouse…” he lamented miserably, making a face as he squinted down at the wet patch on his stomach.

“It’ll wash out,” Roger chuckled.

“It’s handwash only,” Freddie sighed, still pouting.

“ _I’ll_ wash it out,” Roger offered.

Freddie gave a quiet snort. “You’ll do no such thing, dear.”

“I thought about ripping it.” Roger admitted, earning himself a scandalised glance. “I _didn’t_ ,” he pointed out.

They lay in silence for some time, exchanging a few soft kisses. Freddie lifted a hand up to Roger's face, brushing his hair back with a thoughtful expression.

“Next time I’ll wear something you can rip.” He then informed him quietly, biting down on his lower lip.

“Wow,” Roger huffed out a laugh, and nodded. “Alright.” _Next time._ Considering everything they had just done, it was strange that he wasn’t sure how to say it, that he felt nervous asking, but he took a moment to work up the courage and asked anyway, because it was important, and he had to know. “So… Was that, um. How was that?”

Freddie’s gaze trailed over his lips and into the dark corners of the room for a moment or two, his fingers falling away from Roger’s face and tracing his own lips.

“Intense,” he said eventually, lowering his hand to find Roger’s, who in turn threaded their fingers together.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Freddie met his eyes, a twinkle in them. “Fun.”

“Fun,” Roger echoed, a small lop-sided smile on his lips. “Good. Yeah.”

Returning the smile, Freddie leaned in and kissed him. And Roger wondered, not for the first time, how he had ended up in the arms of this madman. And thanked his lucky stars.

\- - -

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! (Or don't, if you hated it. That's also an option. XD)


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